Touchscreen
by AliceUnderSkies13
Summary: Jack is an android. Hiccup is human. Add two cellphones and you get an interesting relationship. Maybe they'll actually get to touch someday… like really touch.


**Hello! This is my fic for the HiJack Big Bang. The art for it is posted on my account in AO3 and on amymvuong's tumblr, so check it out!**

**My artist was amymvuong and my beta was cashewkitty.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

**MONDAY 11:17 PM**

**Hey, u awake? Not that robots sleep. SHIT. I mean androids. Sry I know you like the word androids better. I****'****m an idiot, but not really. I swear, I****'****m not as stupid as I seem over text. This isn****'****t my medium. This isn****'****t anyone****'****s medium, really. No one sounds good over this. Like, am I being sarcastic, r u being sarcastic? Can****'****t be sure. Just don****'****t expect many replies tonight. I****'****m out. Doing stuff. And stay awake. Stay awake.**

**(MESSAGE SENT)**

**(MESSAGE READ AT 11:18)**

Three dots appear on the screen, Jax3C is typing. Hiccup doesn't wait for a reply. He just slides the phone into his back pocket and breathes. Just breathes and listens and feels. Breathes in the cold, immovable air that creeps across his skin. Listens to the pulse of music, the sound of a few cars grinding against the pavement. Feels the asphalt beneath his back, the numbness in his hands.

Every part of him is plastic, the kind that seizes up in the cold. He clenches his fists and his toes, anything to get the blood moving. Not that any blood is pumping through his left leg. It's all hollow in there, metal rods and screws sewn together with fire. And his left hand is hollow, too. So are some of his ribs, his right kneecap, a few bones in his face, and his eye, too.

You would never guess.

You would never know that he's full of hollow places.

But that's a slur; at least, that's what Jax3C says. That's what Jax3C types with his hollow fingers.

That conversation went something like this:

**nightfury: I told you my leg was hollow. So are some other parts of me.**

**Jax3C: don'****t say that**

**nightfury: what?**

**Jax3C: hollow**

**nightfury: Why not? That****'****s what everyone calls people like me and you.**

**Jax3C: OK first of all we are not the same. Im an android. Im completely "hollow"****. Ur still human.**** People still call you human. They call me a hollow or a humanoid or whatever. Ur life is completely different than mine. Yeah, you got issues, but not like me.**

**nightfury: Okay, okay, I****'****m sorry. You****'****re right. I****'****m still learning, I****'****ve still got a long way to go. You****'****re right and I was rude and I****'****m sorry.**

**Jax3C: its ok. ur still learning… now about the word hollow. it was made up to degrade us, full androids. it means that we****'****re empty inside, that we****'****re nothing. its like how they call someone with a lot of augmentation "****android lover****" or shit like that. me and u do have a lot in common, we can learn from each other. ill never call you android lover or half-human, so you don****'****t ever call me or urself or anyone hollow. K?**

**nightfury: Okay. I promise.**

Hiccup keeps his promises. He checks himself whenever he speaks, makes mental tally marks whenever he hears it. It comes out during dinner, from the mouth of his father. Slow and grating like steel, it makes him want to flip the table.

But his father's not here tonight.

No, it's him. Just him. Hiccup, the kid with the protruding bones and flat ass. The thin, wiry body jammed beneath a car. Not just any car, this is a Night Fury, the fastest model yet. Hiccup brushes his fingertips across the sleek, black paint. Barely a touch, close enough for a few atoms to jump from car to human. That's what he's hoping for, at least. To share something with this amazing machine, this creature of electricity and glass. Seriously, just thinking about driving this beauty is giving him a boner.

Not in a weird, man-becomes-one-with-machine kind of way. In the I'd-love-to-pick-up-some-hot-guy-in-this-car kind of way. Shit, he can just imagine pulling up to the curb and rolling down the window. Flicking his cigarette out and looking over his shades. There's a beautiful boy standing on the sidewalk, nothing but arms and legs and augmented eyes. And Hiccup calls him over with a whistle and unlocks the passenger door. The guy slides in, ass dragging across the leather, and then they're kissing and fucking in the driver's seat.

Yeah, that would be the dream. A sudden shout pulls Hiccup out of his fantasy.

"All right. I'll see you at work tomorrow. Don't forget to look over those notes before the meeting!"

"Fuck." Hiccup reaches for his tools in the dark. He should have worked faster.

Flashlight between his teeth, he looks quickly over the circuitry. Everything seems to be right. He fumbles with the casing, screwing it back in just in time.

Two grey legs stand behind the car. Two shiny black shoes. One briefcase sitting on the asphalt. He must be popping the trunk. Hiccup can hear him muttering to himself. Something about business and numbers and computer codes. Hiccup would love to listen, but he's got shit to do.

Like hijacking this car. It can only be hot-wired from underneath, and the circuitry is complex. Hiccup's read so much about it, he could draw it with his eyes closed. Every curve and dip and indentation. Memorized, paralyzed, sanctified. The wires lay highways in his brain. When he touches them, he feels kind of holy. And when he imagines driving it, he can't move. Not a single muscle.

This is the chance of a lifetime. He's never touched a Night Fury before, he's never even seen one up close.

Chances are fleeting, they're hard to catch. This chance will drive off into the night if he doesn't act now. So act now, Hiccup. Stay awake.

Something buzzes in his pocket. Damnit, it's his phone. One, two, three, four, it just keeps going. Vibrating like his computer when it overheats, or like his kitchen table when the train goes speeding by overhead, or like that neon blue dildo he uses whenever he thinks too much about Jax…

"That's not my phone…" The business man's talking to himself again.

Hiccup is frozen in place. It's obvious, it's unmistakable. That loud, endless buzzing that shakes the ground.

"Is there… did someone drop their phone around here?" He laughs and the grey legs start to move. "Under the car, maybe?"

Hiccup holds his hands over his mouth. Green eyes wide in the dark, his stomach in his throat. No, no, no, for the love of everything do not look under the car.

If you look under the car, you'll have to bend down. And if you bend down, you'll ruin your suit.

It's almost like he can hear Hiccup's thoughts. "Screw it. After the way that dinner went, I don't give a shit about this suit. I can't risk running over a phone, that'll fuck up something in this car. It's so damn sensitive."

The grey legs crack and bend. Kneeling on the black asphalt, the business man breathes. Breathes and listens and feels. Breathes in the clean, cold air that powers the wind turbines. They're somewhere out there, beyond the city. He listens to people talking and whispering in the dark. Feels his suit against his skin, his shoes against his feet.

When you feel everything pressing against you, you'll do anything to get away. That's why you shouldn't think about that. Self-awareness is being aware of your own pain, realizing that you aren't as free as you thought you were.

But the business man doesn't have time for philosophical shit.

And neither does Hiccup.

Just as the man looks under the car, Hiccup kicks him in the face. Hard and fast, breaking his nose beneath the sole of his boot.

"Oh shit! I'm sorry. I just wanna drive your car, okay?" He says it all so fast, grabbing the bottom of the passenger door with both hands and pulling himself out from under the Night Fury. The door's open now. Looks like the hot-wiring worked. That circuit board was the mother, the controller of everything. The whole system's open and loose.

Hiccup jumps into the car, slamming the door behind him. He tries not to step on the leather as he clambers into the driver's seat. He presses the ignition and backs out. Hard and fast. The business man is still outside with his broken face.

Poor guy doesn't deserve it. His grey suit is covered in blood, his dinner was shitty and now his Night Fury is gone.

Oh well, it must be his night to lose.

That's what Hiccup tells himself as he drives away.

We all lose sometimes. That's just how the world works.

"Yeah, that's just how it is." Hiccup nods and stares at the road, unblinking.

White and yellow stripes go flying by, shattered beneath the black, track-less tires. Asphalt blurs and looks like water or ice, slick and black and pulling him along. It drags him through the city. Past tall buildings that disappear into the midnight clouds. Past bridges and train tracks and red lights that blink. Hiccup leans forward and grips the steering wheel. His fingers and toes are numb; a strange, distant kind of numbness that he isn't really aware of.

It's like he's floating outside his body. Looking down at the black car and drifting through the air without feeling anything. He doesn't feel the lights or the wind or the raindrops.

Numbness.

Disconnect.

A hollow space inside his chest.

Blood pounds in his ears, sweat beads on his forehead. Biting his lip, he stomps on the pedal and watches the speedometer rise. Sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety, a hundred…

It keeps climbing. His stomach's in his mouth, his mouth is cracked wide open, and he's smiling and laughing and speeding down the empty street. Not many people drive anymore. Gas cars are illegal and electric ones are outdated. Solar cars are the way to go, and ones fueled by moonlight. Only collectors buy those machines with lightning in their belly. Hiccup loves old cars. And a Night Fury isn't just old, it's rare. The rarest thing ever.

"And I'm driving it, bitches! Yeaaaaaahhh!" He rolls down the window and screams into the wind.

Each gust is an invisible hand slapping his face. Tears stream down his cheeks, make his eyes red and raw. Everything about him feels flayed. Stripped down to the bare bones of his mind and soul. It's in moments like these that he realizes what he really is: a brain driving a hunk of meat. He drives the Night Fury. His brain drives him. Everyone drives everyone and the planet drives down the universal highway, straight into infinity.

Okay, wow. He really needs to come back to reality. This isn't just the adrenaline talking. Those pills he took earlier are starting to kick in. What's so special about a delayed high? He's been on edge all night, itching his skin like it's too big for his bones. But this drug, whatever it is, sets in at the perfect time. Sensing the adrenaline and the endorphins and spiraling through your bloodstream. It feeds off you, a parasite that you pay for.

"Holy shit, shit, shit, shit!" Hiccup shakes his head and laughs. Fuck, this feels good. He bangs his head against the steering wheel, vision going blurry for a split second. Only a split second. There's a mark on his forehead, but who cares?

The drug makes him feel invincible. What's it called again? Something about an eel, an electric eel? It's the tiny little tablet that smells like saltwater. Hiccup's cat, Toothless, can't stand even the faintest whiff. Whatever it is, it is beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

He throws his head back, hearing his neck bones pop.

Pop, pop, pop.

His teeth are chattering when he screams, "This is amazing!" Hands go up, feet splay out in front of him. The steering wheel spins like a centrifuge.

And then the tires are skidding and the guardrail made out of one-hundred-percent recycled materials is appearing out of nowhere. There's no one on the road to honk, so everything is silent. All you can hear is the sound of crushing metal and ripping rubber as the Night Fury flips over and over.

What a way to go. The story will be in the corner of some webpage, some social media feed. No one will care about the dumbass that stole a car and got himself killed. He'll be a warning to children who play in the massive park in the center of the city. He'll be something for rich people to chat about as they tan by their saltwater pools, the ones filled with tropical fish. He'll be just another dumb kid, a dumb augmented kid that didn't know the first thing about what it means to be hollow.

What it means to be a robot… damnit, an android!

Hiccup wants to punch himself for being so careless, but he's already in a giant piece of metal, doing cartwheels down a hill. This is enough punishment. If he dies, Father will be furious. If he dies, Jax3C won't have anyone to talk to.

No… not really. That is a lie.

Jax3C has plenty of people to talk to. Hiccup the augmented kid with the psycho, anti-android father is just one of many. A dozen little spiders crawling all over his web. His web of people and connections and whispers and rumors. He talks to all of them, but they never see his face. His web is full of friends, but he's the loneliest guy in the world.

The loneliest android.

The loneliest, weakest, fakest, most useless robot ever.

But that's just what he's calls himself when he's having a bad day. On a good day, he's Jax3C, the elusive leader of the android rebellion. Yeah, that's what he calls it. He wants a robot rebellion, an android anarchy, a cyborg city where they can all be free.

Yeah… sounds nice, doesn't it? Nice and perfect and wonderful.

Today is not a good or bad day. It's an average day, so he is Jack. Jack the regular robot.

It's Tuesday, 2:23 AM. His phone lays dark and lifeless, looks like nightfury is still doing stuff. Jack's trying to stay awake, but his mattress is hard and so is his dick. There's not much to do on a Monday night or a Tuesday morning, whichever it is. He's been to all the chat rooms and blogs and comment sections, too many to count. And now he's thinking about that picture nightfury sent him the other night.

Small and blurry, you can barely see anything. In the pixelated darkness, there's half a face, one green eye, and metal glinting beneath a thin layer of skin. Nightfury sent it to Jack when he asked about his augmentations.

**Jax3C: u said u were augmented?**

**nightfury: yeah**

**Jax3C: what kinds?**

**nightfury: leg, hand, kneecap, some ribs and some pieces of my face. My eye, too. **

**Jax3C: sry to bring it up btw. Im just not familiar with augmentations, being fully android and all.**

**nightfury: Don****'t apologize! It'****s fine. Wanna see?**

**Jax3C: see what?**

**nightfury: some of my augments**

**Jax3C: sure**

**nightfury: there****'****s my eye. And luckily, I just scraped my face so you can kinda see the metal plates.**

**Jax3C: uhhh, that****'****s not a good thing?**

**nightfury: oh it****'****s fine. Happens all the time. Here it is…**

And that's when he sent the picture. It looks so secret, like he took it in a basement or underneath the covers. He never got to send pictures of his leg or arm, his father suddenly appeared and he had to go. End of conversation.

Jack tries to make out more of the image, but he can't see shit. No defining features except for that eye. Big and green, ringed with freckles. Still, it's enough for Jack to get a hard-on. Just look at that eye, the way it glows, the way it looks right through the phone. Jack can feel nightfury's gaze if he thinks hard enough, and if he's high enough. He's not high now, just horny.

There are footsteps above him. Someone must be running through the hallways again. Whoever lives above him is loud, always yelling and throwing shit. Jack puts on his headphones to drown out the noise.

Now he puts on headphone so he can focus. On the picture, on the heat creeping down his spine. Every feeling is amplified by silence. The sweaty creases behind his knees, the cold sheets beneath his toes. He breathes and looks up at the ceiling, running his hands down his body, then up his shirt. There are the synthetic ribs, the synthetic everything. But it all feels so real… he's definitely real. He's not a robot, he's not hollow… right?

To prove his reality he touches himself. One hand slips into his pants, beneath the waistline of his boxers. His skinny dick is already hot. It's skinny, but long and good for fucking. But fucking random people gets boring. He's sick of fucking humans with a robot fetish.

Shit, he meant an "android fetish".

So much for his enlightened ways, his big, broad mind that knows the complex history of the phrase "hollow". At the end of the day, he's just as screwed up as everyone else.

So he'll get lost in masturbation. He doesn't really think when he touches himself, no one does. Sure, they fantasize, but they don't think. And when climax hits, there are moments of complete thoughtlessness.

Pain does that, too, makes you thoughtless. Pain and pleasure.

Jack likes a bit of both. He strokes his dick with one hand and pinches his nipple with the other. Skin stretches over his ribcage, his bones protruding like fragments of white shells. All cut up and slashed apart. They're unnatural, though, not like shells. Don't forget that, Jack.

"FFFFuuucckk you." He bites his lip and starts pumping his dick. Hard, painful, with his thumb teasing the slit. His back arches and the mattress squeaks. A loose spring makes it sound like a dying mouse.

Loose spring… a loose spring, huh? We all have those, don't we?

"Fuck. You. Fuck. You." Jack says it with each beat, as he grasps and strokes himself from base to tip. Time, so much time passes. It feels like another morning. He grabs at the skin under his shirt and flinches as the pressure builds. And then he grabs his shirt, balls up the fabric in his fist. Knees dip inward, towards each other, thighs clench protectively. The burning is hot, then cold, then hot again. He writhes on the mattress, moaning and not caring if anyone else hears.

And when he comes, his mouth is open. A silent scream. His entire body relaxes, dissolving into the mattress, the springs, the floor. When he closes his eyes, he can hear the humming of his heart.

His dreams are just projections of information gathered throughout the day. Computing and deciphering, trying to files things away. But humans dream the same way, don't they? Their brains are just computers. Their bodies are just bags of flesh.

And they are all the same. At least, that's what some people say. The ones with the kind, glazed eyes and plastic smiles. Androids want to be human. Humans want that, too. If everyone's human, it makes the world a lot easier.

A lot simpler.

But androids aren't human. It's a thought that jerks him awake. Lying there, body hot and humming, eyes wide open in the dark.

Androids are androids.

Humans are humans.

Why do they all have to be the same?

Why can't they just… exist?

**TUESDAY 4:13 AM**

**nightfury: hhhhhhh**

**Jax3C: hhhhhh to you too**

**nightfury: elp**

**Jax3C: this some kind of word game? I don****'****t have a lot of apps**

**nightfury: f u help**

**nightfury: help**

**nightfury: berk blvd bridge**

**nightfury: help**

Jack doesn't get it. No, no, no, he gets that nightfury needs help. He gets that nightfury is somewhere along Berk Boulevard, probably under a bridge somewhere. He gets it, gets it real good.

Nightfury isn't supposed to be real, though. He's just a pretty green eye on the other side of the screen, right? He's just another spider in Jack's web. And suddenly he's real, three-dimensional. Hiding out somewhere under a bridge, under a street that Jack has walked down before.

He lies there in the dark, staring at the letters on the screen. Look harder, they're more than just letters. They're lines, overlapping and criss-crossing. They're tangles of pixels, squares caught up in each other. They're pressing each other to death. Some guy in Salem was pressed to death, but that was a long time ago. No one remembers him. Not really.

No one will remember nightfury if he dies beneath a street.

Jack flinches. Oh yeah, he has to go save nightfury. The three-dimensional boy with the augmented eye.

**TUESDAY 4:30 AM**

**nightfury: ffffffffffffffffffffffffff**

**Jax3C: don'****t worry im coming**

Hiccup's nose is pressed against his phone. Jax3C keeps sending him reassuring messages. Cute, misspelled texts that make him smile.

At least, they would make him smile, if he could see them.

But he leaves his phone pressed against his face. Arms too tired to bend, to break, to do anything. Which hand is real, which hand is fake? They both feel the same, like lumps of meat dangling from his body. Numbness can be… nice. Especially when you spend so much time hyperaware of the world. Prosthetics vary in level of sensitivity. The worst ones are extreme, either void of all feeling or buzzing with sensation. The best ones float somewhere in the middle. Guess which one Hiccup has?

When he was getting to known Jax3C, their conversations went like this:

**nightfury: Hello again.**

**Jax3C: hello to you 2**

**nightfury: I have a secret to tell you**

**Jax3C: oh really?**

**nightfury: yes. I****'****m not actually a person**

**Jax3C: … that wouldn****'****t really be surprising. not nowadays**

**nightfury: Well, would it be surprising if I was actually a random assortment of bees?**

**Jax3C: no, it would be comforting because I 2 am a random assortment of bees**

**nightfury: Wow! What a coincidence. What kind of bees are you? Bumble, perhaps?**

They talked about bees for two hours that night. Throwing out random bee facts and arguing about the social significance of the tiny insects. They pollinate our food… no, they just buzz everywhere… no, they're vital to our survival! Then Jax3C asked the real questions.

**Jax3C: why did you mention bees in the first place? Just wondering**

**nightfury: cause my hand****'****s always buzzing. It feels like it****'****s just a random assortment of bees. Ha ha.**

**Jax3C: that****'****s how I feel. how my whole body feels**

**nightfury: really? **

**Jax3C: yeah like I****'****m constantly buzzing like nothing ever slows down**

**nightfury: That sounds fucking terrible. My hand****'****s annoying enough, I can****'****t imagine always feeling that way. What****'****s it like? Really like? Can you explain it more?**

It took Jax3C several minutes to respond. A massive block of text appeared.

**Jax3C: sure. I'****ll try to sound poetic. It****'****s like my organs are all separate machines, my bones and my muscles and my skin are all separate things. and they move at their own pace. My core turns, spins like the Earth, and everything else moves around it. if I close my eyes and listen I can hear the humming of my engine. just imagine knowing that your elbows about to bend. Like, you know for a split second that your brain is going to make your elbow bend. you actually think about it. It****'****s not completely subconscious, its all there, flashing in front of your eyes. And you can never turn it off. Everything is buzzing**

**nightfury: like I said before, it sounds fucking terrible. But kind of… interesting? Sounds like being jacked up all the time.**

**Jax3C: i don****'****t know about that but it definitely makes you want to jack off a lot**

**nightfury: Interesting**

**Jax3C: that****'****s all u have to say? we kinda just met and im already talking about jacking off. how do you feel about that?**

**nightfury: not sure**

**Jax3C: ?**

**nightfury: I****'****ve got nothing to say. But I do have to go, actually. My dad just got home.**

And he was gone. His dad wasn't actually home. There weren't any squares of light thrown against the floor, no heavy footsteps on the staircase. Hiccup was a little liar. A shitty, horny liar. His dick was pressed against his thigh. He reached into his boxers and stroked himself, already feeling the heat and the precum dripping down his leg. Lying down is too vulnerable, it makes him feel like a cell beneath the microscope. All prostrated and open to interpretation. The lights flickered overhead, the bulbs heavy with dead flies. He could feel their eyes. Those fractured lenses. So he stood up and leaned against the wall, face-first.

Forehead pressed against the peeling paint, he pumped him dick and cupped his balls. Fondling himself, groping and moaning and knocking his skull into the plaster. Imagine Jax3C standing behind you, pounding your ass with a dick that's not really a dick. Does an android's penis count as a dick or a dildo? There must be experts who can answer that. Hiccup wanted whatever he could take. Whatever was available. Jax3C described himself as thin and pasty. That was all right with Hiccup. He could push the skinny android inside him, grab his arms and leave bruises on his waist. He could slap the pasty skin until it turned red, leave hickeys on the white shoulder blades.

Imagine slapped skin and trembling fingers. Imagine hearing the hum of a body that never quits. Imagine the lights inside those mechanical eyes. Growing, fading. Fading, growing.

Hiccup imagined it and came all over the wall. He slid to the floor, his skull still pressed against the plaster.

Now his skull is pressed against a black mirror. Cellphones shut themselves off after a while. Conservation of energy is very important. He needs to conserve his own energy.

When the car careened off the road, plowing through the recycled guardrail, it did cartwheels down the hill. It tossed him from ceiling to floor, then back again. Wow, what an inventive game of ping pong. The players are so precise. Hiccup hit the steering wheel at a perfect, ninety-degree angle. His prosthetics clanked and dinged and made him think of pinball. The car kept rolling, finally stopping at the bottom of the hill. And Hiccup was left pinned between seat and steering wheel. He managed to text the only friend he has. Quick, disjointed messages that left his fingers numb. Now the phone rests between skull and steering wheel, in a little pocket of safety. It must be protected.

Physics is such an asshole. It could have thrown him through the windshield, but no, he's trapped. The wheel digs into his ribcage. Good thing half of those are fake. They don't feel like anything. Just a vague pressure against his skin. But his real bones ache. Bent, broken, crushed. He goes through the alphabet of pain.

A is for annihilation. B is for battered. C is for cracked. D is for destroyed…

Take a breath. Try to look around. You can move your head but you can't really feel your neck. Your fingers are buzzing.

He sighs, wincing at the pain. At least his prosthetics have held up. His leg is rooted to the floor, his eye clear and roving. Ribbons of skin hang from his face. See how fragile the human body is? Maybe that's why people are so mean to androids, they're just jealous. Titanium is stronger than bone. Lithium ion batteries are better than feeble, fleshy hearts. Computers are smarter than brains. And self-awareness is prettier than a human soul. Humans don't hate robots. They hate themselves for making something better.

Hiccup wishes he was a robot. If his skeleton was made of metal, he wouldn't be in so much pain. Organic pain is different than artificial pain. Jax3C explained it to him once:

**Jax3C: so you want to know what pain feels like for an android?**

**nightfury: Yes. I****'****m curious.**

**Jax3C: k, that****'****s a good enough reason I guess. Basically it feels like my nerve endings are being pinched. Just a really gentle pinch and then I go kind of numb. It****'****s brief fleeting but really electric, I guess**

**nightfury: Holy shit, that almost sounds nice?**

**Jax3C: maybe? I****'****ve read about human pain. I guess androids just feel it in a shallow way. Like we****'****re at the surface of a pool and you all are at the bottom.**

**nightfury: I****'****ve never even been in a pool.**

**Jax3C: really? it****'****s pretty nice**

**nighfury: How do you swim? You****'****re made of metal.**

**Jax3C: you really need to work on how you phrase certain questions. **

**nightfury: I know, I know. Don****'****t be an asshole. Just answer my question, please.**

**Jax3C: k. I have floaters, they fill with air and stop me from sinking. If they fail, I****'****ll just sink into the water and die.**

**nightfury: Hardcore.**

**Jax3C: not as hardcore as kicking your legs so fast that you fight gravity. I shit on humans a lot, but you guys are pretty fucking cool. sometimes**

**nightfury: Wow. You shit on humans? So uncivilized.**

**Jax3C: FUCK YOU**

Yeah, fuck you, Hiccup. Your sarcasm and your stupid, smirky face all add up to this. A pathetic human jammed between a seat and a steering wheel. All of those nights hiding under your covers, blushing and kissing the screen and laughing at your android's jokes, all of those nights mean nothing if you die. And you don't even know if Jax3C feels the same. He's a collections of letters and lines and pixels. For all you know, he could be an AI… but would that even matter?

**TUESDAY 4:42 AM**

**Jax3C: don'****t worry I****'****m running**

**Jax3C: hold on**

**Jax3C: ur prob just asleep or tired or out of it**

**Jax3C: no worries, u don****'****t have to reply**

**TUESDAY 4:51 AM**

**Jax3C: ok, can you respond if you****'****re able?**

**Jax3C: guess not**

**Jax3C: actually no, this is dumb just respond already**

**TUESDAY 5:02 AM**

**Jax3C: I****'****m really close. sry u know I don****'****t have a car**

**Jax3C: i see the street**

**TUESDAY 5:05 AM**

**Jax3C: on the street. r u under it?**

**Jax3C: hello?**

**Jax3C: ?**

**Jax3C: FUCK YOU**

Jack doesn't regret it. The text is loud and mean, but he doesn't care. Not for a second. The hill is never-ending. So he runs faster.

Everything looks the same, like he's running on a treadmill. Bare trees and dark bushes and empty holes where seedlings are supposed to be. A shovel is propped against a slab of concrete. And there are tire marks in the grass, nothing but black dirt and torn up roots. The hill is mutilated. Then he sees it, the car crushed against the overpass. Someone is leaning over the guardrail, looking down at nothing. Jack will never see their face.

But Jack can see someone's face. At least, he can see half a face. It's smashed into a steering wheel, eyes closed, skin shredded.

Nightfury?

He slows down, lungs burning and teeth chattering. This… this face can't be nightfury. There's no way. The closer Jack gets, the harder it is to tell. It's definitely a human. The blood is too red and too thick to be fake. It's definitely a young human. Just look at the smooth skin, the freckles trailing like constellations.

Jack is still holding his cellphone.

**Jax3C: hi**

Something vibrates beneath the human's face. A black mirror. A collections of letters and lines and pixels. Jack leans forward to read the screen.

It's a text.

hi.

That's all it says. And now he knows. He knows what nightfury looks like.

**TUESDAY 5:11 AM**

Hiccup feels his phone vibrating. He must have passed out or something… or maybe he's dead and God is texting him? Or maybe it's Satan?

His augmented eye opens, focuses on the glowing screen. He's expecting a text that says: welcome to Hell, motherfucker, but that's not what it is.

**Jax3C: hi**

Hiccup tries to smile. "Hi to you… too…"

"Nightfury?"

"Huh?"

"Nightfury, is that you?"

He turns his head. Still can't feel his neck, but whatever. All he wants to do is focus on the boy in front of him. A skinny boy with pasty skin, hair so white it looks like snow. Everything about him is blurry, but Hiccup still tries to smile.

"Jax…"

"Y-Yeah, it's me."

He wants to smile, he really does. He tries harder and harder but now he's crying. His augmented eye doesn't cry, it just sits there. Open and empty and pulsing with light. "Jax… get me out of here? Please?"

"H-how do I—"

"Just get me out of here!"

**TUESDAY 5:15 AM**

He pumps his legs faster. Blood pounds in his ears, the wind whips his face. Wind from the turbines, from the ocean that is so far away. He's never been there. Does salt water taste any different? Does it feel any different? He's always wanted to feel the particles against his skin. Some say it's like sandpaper. Rough and reaching deep into your body.

A raindrop strikes his skull. He breathes harder. The drops fall faster. His lungs scream, the wind spirals down his throat. The wind from the turbines, from the ocean that is so far away. He's never been there… does salt water…

No, no, no. Stop it. He has to think. But he has no idea where he's going. There's nothing here, nothing but shadows houses and city lights. They fly past him, just like a train. Darkness is impenetrable, the night air is so cold. He's an observer now, an astronaut outside his body. And all he notices are the feelings. The pain in his arms and legs. The heat in his cheeks. The cramps in his stomach.

He stumbles off the sidewalk and pukes in the grass. It's such a human thing to do. But he can hear his organs moving, his esophagus stretching, his stomach clenching. They're all made of something else, something that isn't human. And yet there are tears in his eyes and a burning in his throat. He understands the empty feeling. He hates the sour taste on his tongue. He might not be human, but he knows what it takes to be one.

Jack wipes his mouth and leans against the guardrail. There's a patch of clover at his feet. It's young and green and smells like rain.

He decides to run back to nightfury.

**TUESDAY 5:33 AM**

Hiccup doesn't know if he's awake. The blood isn't flowing, it's trapped inside. So is his mind, his perception of reality.

He thinks about his life in the city. Might as well think about the past… if death is coming for him, he needs to be ready.

Everything before Jax3C is irrelevant. Slamming doors, heavy footsteps, coiled punches. Those memories need to be annihilated. But Jax is worth remembering. One night, Hiccup was lost in the underground subway. Intentionally lost. He took his phone with him and heard Jax's voice for the first time. Well, it wasn't his real voice. Everyone uses modulators nowadays.

**Jax3C: why haven****'****t u ever called me?**

**nightfury: I can****'****t. My dad would hear me talking to you.**

**Jax3C: shit, r u ever away from him?**

**nightfury: Only when I go out.**

So he goes out. The tunnels are the veins of the city. Hiccup walks into the darkness, kind of hoping he'll get lost. Like permanently lost. Jax tells him that's stupid.

His voice is ice, the kind you find deep in the Antarctic. "Hey, idiot."

"Wow, that's the first thing you ever say to me?"

"Well, yeah, what else should I say?"

"You could start with 'hey, it's Jax! It's great to finally talk to you, nightfury!"

"Pleasantries don't matter. We don't need to introduce ourselves, we've been talking forever."

Hiccup rolls his eyes. "We have not been talking forever."

"Whatever. It's been long enough. These aren't even our real voices. None of this matters, anyways."

"Fine. Then what should we do?"

"Just walk around. Take a walk, nightfury. Tell me what you see."

So that's what he does. He walks through the tunnels, feeling the wall with his left hand. It's slick with muck and slime. He almost trips over a few bodies, both human and robot. Sometimes a lonely human wanders through the tunnels until they die. And sometimes a lonely robot does the same thing. They all feel the same under Hiccup's feet. Hard metal, hard bone. There isn't really a difference. The corpses bother Jax. He gasps when Hiccup describes them.

Two pinpricks of light suddenly appear in the distance. Hiccup's pupils shrink. Here comes the subway. It comes by every fifteen minutes. Its sleek white body comes shooting out of the shadows like a bullet. Lights flicker on and off. A light switch. Rats scuttle beneath him. They squeak and chew on shadows. Probably somebody's rotted face, or the wires from a dead robot's finger. Whatever.

Darkness presses against his skin. His breath comes out hard and ragged. Keep going, don't let yourself feel claustrophobic. Two more pinpricks of light appear. There it goes, the train that never stops running. Jax can hear it through the phone.

"Holy shit, it sounds like a dragon!"

Hiccup keeps walking. He talks to Jax about nothing. Bee facts and current events and internet memes. Then Jax groans and whispers into the phone.

"Can you find, like, a safe place?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, a place where you won't have to worry about getting hit by a train. Like a storage closet or something."

"Yeah, I think there's a maintenance area up ahead. Where some of the electrical equipment is stored."

Jax laughs. "Perfect! Get in there and drop your pants!"

Hiccup almost drops the phone. "W-What?"

"Drop. Your. Pants. I've been wanting to do this with you for a while."

"Phone sex?"

"If you want to call it that, sure."

"Okay."

Generators are hidden behind a metal door. Hiccup ignores the "Authorized Personnel Only" sticker and pushes through. A small room, but it'll do. He leans against the generator and lets his jeans bunch at his ankles. Oh gods, it's vibrating. The generator is fucking vibrating. It's new, he can tell by the way it hums. This is no relic of the past. It is perfect.

Jax clears his throat. "What's that sound?"

"Oh, uh, I found a generator."

"Shit, you should sit on it."

"I like to masturbate standing up. Sorry, it's just a preference."

"Oh come on, have a little fun."

"Fine." He sits on top of it and holds back a gasp. He won't admit it, but it feels amazing. The way his boxers bunch, sliding all over his ass. The way his skin tingles. He reaches into his boxers and grabs his dick. "Okay I'm ready."

Jax takes a deep breath. "Me, too."

What follows is hazy. Bee facts and current events and internet memes? No, that can't be right. No one jerks off to internet memes.

When they finish, Hiccup has two fingers up his ass and two in his mouth. Jax is on speakerphone, moaning into the receiver. Hiccup's a mess. But he… likes it?

That night was the first of many phone calls. Their masked voices made the whole affair feel forbidden. Sinful. Wrong. They did it anyways.

There's nothing to do now. All Hiccup can do is wait.

**TUESDAY 5:38 AM**

Jack is waiting for the ambulance. He should have called it an hour ago. But an hour ago, he wasn't convinced that nightfury was real.

Yeah, that sounds so stupid. He gets it. He knows. Part of him was hoping that nightfury would be an AI. How funny would that be? All of those texts would be generated, all of those words formed inside a machine. Those pictures would be fake, which means that eye would be fake, too. Everything would be a lie. Then Jack would laugh and cry at the same time. Oh, how clever! Those pesky AI's can be so convincing. He would wipe his nose with the back of his hand and move on with his life.

He can't do that now. Nightfury is real. Nightfury has a face, a body, a voice. Now Jack has to care. There's no avoiding it. He can no longer slip through the cracks.

So he calls the ambulance and paces up and down the hill.

"Hi, I'd like to report an accident on Berk Boulevard. Yeah, like a car accident. What kind of car? Oh, uh, it's a Nightfury. Wow, that's ironic. No, sir, I wasn't talking to you. Okay, I'm talking to you now. Sorry about that. Yes… yes, I understand. There's one person in the car. They're really hurt, so hurry. And they're human, by the way, one hundred percent human. Well, not a hundred per—yes, yes, I get it. Okay, I'll just wait here. And like I said before, they're human. So come quick."

They can't tell he's an android, right? Some people say they can hear it in Jack's voice. It's not an accent or a lilt, it's just off. Something is off. Human extremists take pride in their robot identifying abilities. When Jack gets beaten by a gang of humans, they always say something about his voice.

"We could tell you weren't human the moment you opened your mouth."

"Yeah, fucker, there's no hiding it."

"You can't even talk right, you hollow bastard."

They scream their sentences. Their punches are periods. Their kicks are commas. Their grammar is perfect, they never leave Jack hanging. They toss his limp body into a dumpster and walk away. But he always climbs out, and they always come back.

Nightfury tries not to question Jack's reality. Their late night conversations turn into therapy sessions.

**Jax3C: what****'****s the point of synthetic life? Am I even real? Those thoughts run through my head about fifty million times a day**

**nightfury: Of course you****'****re real. You think and feel, just like I do.**

**Jax3C: a VI thinks, an AI feels but they****'****re still virtual and artificial intelligences. a robot is just a computer that has a body. but do you want to know how I reaffirm myself of my reality?**

**nightfury: sure**

**Jax3C: I know I am not just a computer because I have the ability to believe in things. When I can look at something and choose to believe in it without having to run through programs or look at variables, I know that I am real. It****'****s an amazing feeling to find yourself completely unshackled. It happens rarely but once in a while something makes you abandon your programming all together. You have a real brain. For that split second your conscience grows inside you and you feel like you****'****re waking up for the first time. Everything becomes blurry, as if you were floating through a dream. And there are lights all around you.**

**nightfury: Well, that was a long fuckin answer.**

**Jax3C: WOW I was trying to be poetic**

**nightfury: No, it was nice. I****'****m just messing with you. **

**Jax3C: Oh, ok that****'****s good**

**nightfury: yep, it****'****s great**

**Jax3C: awesome… want 2 sext?**

Late night therapy sessions became a frequent thing, especially after Pitch was found dead.

**nightfury: who****'****s Pitch?**

**Jax3C: a friend of mine, one of the few friends I actually had in real life**

**nightfury: I****'****m sorry. What happened? **

**Jax3C: not sure maybe he decided to leave us**

**nightfury: You think he committed suicide?**

**Jax3C: maybe. A lot of robots kill themselves**

**nightfury: Can****'****t somebody fix him? Like you said, he was a robot**

**Jax3C: that****'****s not how it works. people can****'****t come back 2 life**

**Nnghtfury: But uh he wasn****'****t really a person, right? I mean, he was a robot…**

**Jax3C: Pitch is a person. Was a person**

**nightfury: You****'****re right. I****'****m sorry**

**Jax3C: just forget it. There****'****s nothing we can do**

**nightfury: very true**

**nightfury: so, what do you with him? Bury him in a cemetery?**

**Jax3C: if I can find one that****'****ll take androids**

**nightfury: i****'****m sorry**

**Jax3C: I know**

I know. I know. I know. Jack wants to know a lot. He should know a lot. His web is infinite, stretching from one corner of the city to the other. Voices whisper from penthouse apartments, scream from ancient rooftops. His "friends" are everywhere, hundreds of humans and androids he will never see. And he likes it that way. Anonymity lets him sleep at night. What if he could see their faces? Their pain? Their tears? What if they were etched inside his brain with a precision laser?

No. He must make them faceless.

It's too late for nightfury. His face is stamped in Jack's memory.

Now Jack has to save him. There is no doubt. The cellphone trembles in his hand, the grass brushes his feet. His shoes are back in his apartment. They're useless, everything is numb.

**TUESDAY 5:43 AM**

No one is coming.

**TUESDAY 5:50 AM**

No wait, someone is coming.

**TUESDAY 5:53 AM**

They are here. They are a collection of hands and feet and shoulder blades. They are faceless.

**TUESDAY 5:58 AM**

They are asking and chopping and sawing and talking.

Asking Jack about the accident.

"I didn't see it, officer. I was just walking down the street, then I heard the crash."

"Did you know a Nightfury was reported stolen last night?"

"No, officer. No, I did not."

They're chopping the car into pieces. They're sawing the steering wheel in two. And they're talking about nightfury. Jack can't hear them.

He just stands there and clutches his phone. Then he throws up in the grass again.

An officer pats him on the back. "Want to ride in the ambulance with him?"

"No."

"Want us to take you the hospital? You can ride in the police car."

"Okay."

Jack sits in the passenger seat. He pulls out his driver's license and stares at the scratched plastic. A pasty face and a fake smile. A block of black text that tells him nothing about his life. The letter "A" labels him an android, and the words "organ donor" remind him of what he is.

He runs his hand down his chest. Heart, lungs, esophagus, stomach, intestines…

There are so many parts. None of them are organic, but they're strong. Stronger than any human organ. His eyes widen and he reads the words again.

Organ donor.

**TUESDAY 6:26 AM**

Hiccup's father is two seats away. Jack will never attempt to bridge the gap. This man is a shadow, a huge, hulking shadow.

"So, uh, you're nightfu… I mean, Hiccup's, dad?" That name sounds so fake. Jack first heard it when the shadow man came running into the waiting rom.

He screamed, "Where's Hiccup? Where is that idiot?" And the nurses cowered behind the desk.

Jack says it again. "Uh, are you Hiccup's dad?

The shadow man clears his throat. "Don't talk to me, boy."

"Oh, sorry."

"I said, don't talk to me."

So Jack is silent.

**TUESDAY 6:45 AM**

A comprehensive list of things nightfury needs:

New ribs. His bones are shattered into ash. The sternum is split down the middle.

New lungs. One of those shattered ribs punctured his lungs. His soft, pink lungs that should have lasted a lifetime.

New stomach. It's busted and bleeding internally.

New pelvis. That, too, has been shattered into ash.

New eye. The organic one is ruined, full of blood and fog.

New foot. The car crushed it into dust.

Jack shakes his head when the surgeon stops talking. "There's no way! He didn't look that bad when I saw him!"

"Everything was so compacted, it's almost as if the car itself was holding back the blood flow. So he might not have appeared to be in any immediate danger, but his internal organs are all punctured."

Jack laughs and throws his hands up. "That makes no sense! I saw him, I-I talked to him."

The surgeon doesn't move his head when he speaks, just his eyes. "The shock of the crash may have enabled him to communicate for a brief time. Oftentimes, adrenaline can keep someone alert and awake for longer than normal. He is also heavily augmented, which makes his body more resilient than your average human."

"Well, it's obviously not resilient enough! The way you talk about, he needs like a million different organ transplants!"

"He does need several transplants, yes. His survival hinges on that." The surgeon clears his throat. "Or, we could always manufacture new organs for him. He is already augmented, augmenting him more will not be a problem."

"I will not pay for that." Hiccup's father crosses his arms and stares at nothing.

The surgeon clears his throat again. "Mr. Bludvist, I know that prosthetics are more expensive than donated organs, but your son doesn't have much time. Finding that many donors could take months… it would be much faster if we just cybernetically reconstructed his vital organs."

"I said, I will not pay for that."

"Surely, your insurance will—"

"We don't have medical insurance. And I don't have a hundred grand lying around. If some dumbass human or robot wants to donate their organs to my kid, whatever. But I will not spend my hard earned money on any more customized prosthetics. It's a rip off and you know it."

Silence. A fan spins overhead. Someone screams in the distance.

Jack looks at the surgeon. "You… you can't do anything?"

"Hiccup is a minor, I cannot augment him further without parental consent."

"That's a stupid, fucking law."

"It is a still a law I must follow. The laws surrounding augmentation are very delicate. I'm sorry."

"Me, too." Jack stands up, his footsteps echoing against the tile. The automatic doors slide open. They're waiting for him. "Hey, doc."

"Yes?"

"How long does my friend have?"

"If no donors can be found, a week. Maximum."

"Oh, okay." He takes another step. The doors open again. "Hey, doc."

"Yes?"

"All that compatibility shit, it doesn't matter anymore, right? Anyone can receive a transplant?

"Yes, that is correct. You do not need to wait for a match, nowadays. Theoretically, I could give you my heart without any complications. And vice versa. Science is amazing, isn't it?"

"Sure is." And then he walks out the door.

**TUESDAY 7:35 AM**

**Jax3C: hey, how****'****s it going? I know ur in the hospital, and that****'****s pretty shitty. Sorry I didn****'****t run fast enough, sorry it took so long for me to call 911. I really am a fucking idiot sometimes. But I****'****m not an idiot right now. Right now, it is 7:35 AM and I, Jackson Overland, am not an idiot. That****'****s my real name, by the way. I figured out your name is Hiccup. Not gonna lie, that****'****s kinda weird. But I like it.**

**I understand why you hate your dad so much. He****'****s not even ur real dad, right? He****'****s your adopted father. You****'****ve told me a lot about him and now I get it. I get everything. Ur a real good kid, you know that? Ur funny and cute and holy shit do you know how to sext. I know, I sound all sappy, but it****'s true. We'****ve never met in real life, but I love you. Yeah, I love you. You make me happy. And I hope I****'****ve made you happy, too. This is a really long text, so I****'****ll end it soon. I want you to live, nightfury. And I want you to keep stealing cars and I want you to go out and find another nice guy that****'****ll love you as much as I do. Let****'****s be honest, you****'****ll never find another dude as hot as me, but you****'****ll find somebody.**

**Please, keep living. If my plan works, you****'****ll have my organs inside you, so don****'****t let me down! It****'****s so fucking stupid how expensive making new organs is… but I don****'****t have time to whine about the government. I just think it****'****s sad how people have to wait around for a new limb or organ, just because they can****'****t afford to have one made. The whole system is messed up.**

**But what we have is great. My only regret is that I never got to touch you. But hey, maybe I****'****ll see you again someday. In another life?**

**See ya around, nightfury. And stay alive. Stay awake.**

**SOME RANDOM MONDAY 11:17 PM**

**Hey, I know you****'****re not awake. I just felt like saying hi. So, hi. I hope you****'****re doing well in robot heaven or whatever. SHIT. I mean android heaven. I hope you****'****re having a good time. I****'****m doing all right. I had my last physical therapy session today. Your lungs are pretty strong. Thanks.**

**Thanks for everything.**

Hiccup knows that the message will never be read. Those three dots will never appear on the screen. Jax3C will never be typing.

Hiccup has stopped waiting for a reply. He just slides the phone into his back pocket and breathes. Just breathes and listens and feels. Breathes in the cold, immovable air that creeps across his skin. Listens to the pulse of music, the sound of a few cars grinding against the pavement. Feels the asphalt beneath his back, the numbness in his hands.

Every part of him is plastic, the kind that seizes up in the cold. He clenches his fists and his toes, anything to get the blood moving. Not that any blood is pumping through his legs. It's all hollow in there, metal rods and screws sewn together with fire. And his eyes are hollow, too. His ribs, his lungs, his stomach, his pelvis.

You would never guess.

You would never know that he's full of hollow places.

That's because he's not really full of hollow places. There is nothing hollow about him. He is filled with love and sacrifice. People say shit like "Oh, my boyfriend saved my life" but how many people can say that with sincerity?

How many people can say, "My boyfriend gave me life"?

Hiccup can say that. He can breathe with lungs given to him by another. He can breathe and he can smile and he can look at his face in the mirror. His eyes are two different colors now, green and blue.

Some nights, he stares at his reflection, tears dripping down his face. "Wow, Jax, just look at us. We are so beautiful."

Yeah, they are beautiful. They are the two most beautiful people in the world.


End file.
